A Chance To Fly
by missphryne
Summary: Phryne's thoughts dip into dangerous waters after learning of a particular policeman waiting to see her. PWP


Phryne could feel the pumping of her heart all through her body. Her thighs trembled and her breath clenched in her chest as she soared higher and higher, her eyes shut tight and one hand moving frantically between her wide legs, her fingers slipping on hot flesh as she moaned.

A knock on her door had her hand freezing and she slumped back into her mattress. The soaring feeling vanished instantly, replaced with incomplete-ness and frustration.

"Miss?" Mr Butler's voice called through the door, "The Inspector is downstairs,"

Jack! She'd been hoping to see him today; well all week actually, they hadn't had the opportunity, Jack being busy with his work load, and Phryne with a mix of functions, soirees, luncheons and far tamer cases than the kind to bring her path crossing with her favourite policeman's.

"Tell him I'll be down five minutes," she replied, before quickly changing her mind "No, twenty! I'll be down in twenty minutes, perhaps you can offer him some breakfast?"

"Very well, Miss." Mr Butler said through the door, and Phryne waited, listening carefully until she heard the older man's feet walking away down the corridor.

She bit her lip, trying to wait, trying to be sure she would not be interrupted again, but all too soon she could wait no more and she gave in. She still positively itched with desire after all.

Her fingers began to move again, and she licked her lips on a sigh.

She would just finish this, then she would get dressed and head downstairs to see Jack.

Oh Jack... that was a dangerous thought at a time like this.

Jack with his strong jaw and defined cheekbones, his eyes that seared into her, and a smile that made her grip whatever was in reach just to resist melting at his toes.

Jack with his gorgeous arms wet from the water at Queenscliff, his swimming costume clinging to his chest, and delightful thighs and calves strutting their way toward her across the sand...

Jack with his low voice in her ear, his suit swapped for a knitted vest or cardigan, his hair falling in soft waves into his face until he reached up and brushed it back with fingers she'd long since found herself staring at. There was something truly delightful about those fingers.

Phryne gasped, and the sound caught in her throat and twisted into a moan. Her own much smaller fingers moved from her clitoris and without consciously making the choice she slid them down and curled them inside herself, picturing in her mind Jack, Jack and his much larger, longer, thicker fingers pushing inside her and curling just so. She whimpered, moving as she thought he would. Slowly and cautiously at first, but then fast and hard, learning quickly, finding the places that had her writhing and striking them again and again and again.

Her left hand reached blindly for her breast, and she pinched at her skin, then felt for her nipple and pinched that too. Moisture flooded between her legs and across the fingers there, and in her mind's eye she imagined if Jack were the one to cause such a response. How he would look down the length of her body to his fingers buried in her flesh, how he might pinch her again and murmur a curse of how beautiful she looked, wanton and desperate and damn near pleading for him from beneath his large hot body.

And he might give in, and take her to those heights she craved. Or he might tease her, and draw out the climb. Slide his way down her body and open her up. Spread the wetness he'd find between her legs with equally wet fingers and watch her closely as she reacted to his touch.

He might lean in, breath in the scent of her, sweet and tangy and oh so tempting if he'd just dare to try. His tongue would lick at his lips, and then it would lick at hers, and Phryne felt herself melt a little just at the thought of it. Jack Robinson tasting her, licking her, sucking at her, pressing those glorious fingers inside of her and rubbing her from within as his tongue danced across her clitoris, and her hands would clench in that gorgeous hair, pulling him in, holding him closer, until she could take no more and her orgasm would rip through her, like an electric bolt running all through her skin.

She would cry out and buck up in bed, calling his name and fall back into her pillow panting, her whole being tingling with the after effects of her climax.

And so she was, staring up at her ceiling, heart pounding loudly in her ears as slowly conscious thought returned to her.

Dear God.

After many great minutes, when her limbs began to feel themselves again, rather the flickering pins and needles weighed down with heavy lead that they had been, Phryne remembered she had a visitor. Jack, the real Jack, was in her house and waiting to speak with her. Had been mere rooms away, under the same roof while she'd closed her eyes and...

A shiver ran down her spine, and she felt her womb clench.

With great effort she sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Standing on legs that even now felt wobbly, Phryne moved to her bathroom. She splashed her flushed face with cool water then dried it on a towel before dressing in clothes Dot had laid out for her hours earlier, and sat at her vanity to draw her eyebrows and paint her lips in a delightful shade of red.

With just a spray of her perfume Phryne jumped back to her feet and headed downstairs.

She entered the parlour with a brilliant smile, and found Jack sitting on her chaise, a cup of tea in his hand, and a few crumbs on his shirt telling her he'd just finished eating a few slices of toast.

"Hello Jack!"

"Miss Fisher," he responded, "I apologise if I intruded on anything, coming by so early in the day."

"No need to apologise, Jack," Phryne smiled coquettishly, "Intrude away."


End file.
